


dress yourself in parody (you'll look the part)

by Wallyallens



Series: small steps home [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: (sort of), Brotherly Bonding, Gen, ft zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallyallens/pseuds/Wallyallens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part two. Jason wishes he had never left the house. Damian wishes he hadn't either. But they have to work together or die, and neither is fond of that option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dress yourself in parody (you'll look the part)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my story 'Golden'. The song this time is 'Wolves' by To Kill A King.

_Take it like a man_  
_Arm yourself with apathy  
_They'll understand, you know they'll understand__

_Take it like a man,_  
_Arm yourself with Apathy  
_They'll understand, you know they'll understand_ . . . _

Jason needed a cigarette. Screw that, he needed twenty. 

“Holy shit!” he yelled, feet skidding as he turned the corner at breakneck speed. “Keep running, kid.” 

One hand clasped a gun, firing at the crowd gathered ahead of them, but the other reached out to grasp at the hood of the boy at his side, who was ready to run back into the lion’s den just for the fight. His fingers wrapped around the yellow hood and yanked, carrying the kid by the scruff of his neck like an overgrown kitten as they made their escape.

“Don’t – call - me – kid, _Todd_!” the kid shouted back, punctuating each word with either a kick or a punch to Jason’s torso, struggling to get down. Somehow, he managed to hold the ‘petulant child’ air even in the middle of battle. “And put me down!”

“Shut it, kid. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Firing off enough shots to give them a few seconds space to hide, Jason ignored the jabs still being aimed at his ribs and pulled the kid closer, hooking one arm around a tiny waist so he could run more smoothly. Diving into a side room, Jason dumped the kid on the floor and turned quickly to barricade the door, toppling a bookcase to block it. Closing his eyes and falling heavily, Jason turned before he collapsed against the frame.

Slowly, he took of his hood and placed it on the ground beside him.

“That’s better,” he said to no one in particular. “I couldn’t breathe in there.”

Underneath, his face was damp with sweat, streak of grey hair plastered against his forehead. He even wanted to take the damn domino mask he wore beneath it off for a second, it pinching his eyes uncomfortably, but knew it would be a mistake. It hid his eyes and his emotions by a large part. Because he was _freaking out_ – that was something he would rather keep to himself.

A second later, the little shit sucker punched him in the stomach. Heaving over, Jason let out a low groan, feeling every bruise on his body starting to take form. It hurt like a son of a –

“You little-”

“Language, Todd.” Damian Wayne corrected him with a sneer, standing over him proudly now. The damn hood was still around his shoulders, and his Robin costume was soaked in blood by this point, but the same domino mask – almost identical – stood out on both of their faces. After standing for a second, Damian seemed to notice this, pulling up his hood as he turned away to stalk the perimeter of the room like a caged animal. 

Noticing the slight widening of Damian’s eyes before he turned away, Jason shook his head to try and clear it. He knew that the others being disgusted by association with him should be a normal thing by now. But . . . well, the look kind of hurt. Even he couldn’t pinpoint why this stung – he barely knew the kid, not counting times they had tried to kill each other.

But that was months ago. He’d even been hesitantly working with Dick recently after the night at his apartment. It wasn’t exactly peace, but it was _something_. There was no need for Damian to be afraid of him – his head was right now, not like it was, and Jason didn’t hurt kids. Not even Bruce’s demon spawn. That was his rule and he was sticking to it. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Jason blinked, and suddenly the kid was standing in front of him, scowl big enough to land an airplane on marking his face. He looked a lot like Bruce with that expression.

“Nothing,” he replied, shrugging and wincing at the movement. “I just always thought of you as more of Thalia’s than Bruce’s – but you’ve got the batglare down, kid.”

“I told you not to call me ‘kid’,” Damian snapped, anger increasing. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say more but then his gaze travelled from Jason’s eyes to his side, glare becoming more of a frown. “You’re bleeding.”

“And they call Bruce ‘the world’s greatest detective’.”

“Tt,” the kid tutted at him and pulled something from his utility belt, throwing it over. “You could have mentioned you were injured before – if you collapse, _I’m_ certainly not carrying you out.”

Jason took the spray offered to him and turned it around a few times in his hands. He recognised it immediately as one of the spray-on bandages Batman used in the field, and if he was really honest with himself – he needed it. The cut on his side was deep enough to pierce through his Kevlar suit, leaking a little more each time he moved and leaving a perfect trail to follow.

With a nod of thanks, he applied the spray to the wound, thankful of the resistance it would provide. It came out neon blue and clashed horribly with all the red and black of his costume, but it stopped the bleeding entirely.

Although they were in a sub-basement of a medical research facility now, the fight had started up above; the two of them had been thrown through a display case, but Jason had twisted midair and taken the brunt of the fall, covering Damian with his arms as best he could. The result of his action was a slicing of glass through his side. On a list of bad decisions he’d made that night, however, it wasn’t actually the worst.

No, the worst was coming in the first place.

“They’re going to get in eventually, you know,” Damian said, referring to the banging on the door Jason held up, which was getting more violent. The hinges strained loudly with each blow. Outside, the groaning was getting clearer.

“I know.”

“And we’re cornered here, thanks to you.”

“I know.”

Damian pointed to the door, “And there’s no other way out of the sub-basement except _that_ corridor.”

“I fucking _know_!” Jason cursed loudly. He knew the kid was only stating facts - although he suspected it was to get a rise - so he should try and keep his temper in check, but he slammed his fists against the bookcase below him anyways, the feeling building. This whole thing sucked. He should have stayed at home and fucking drank himself to sleep again, or picked a fight with Bruce for the hell of it or anything but check out this goddamned lead. 

With a cry of rage, he got to his feet and walked across the small, cupboard-like room, planting his fist through the wall on the other side. As he moved quickly, he noticed the kid tense and prepare to defend himself, only to look confused as Jason passed him by, hands falling to his sides.

Fist still in the wall, Jason put his head against it and tried to breathe. 

“Todd?”

He heard the voice behind him, holding it’s edge of arrogance but allowing a fraction of . . . fear? Concern? Jason couldn’t put a name to the sound in Damian’s voice, and he didn’t care right then, ignoring it. Chest rising and falling heavily, he counted to sixty before he moved, turning and slumping against the wall this time.

“It had to be fucking _zombies_ , didn’t it?”

As Jason let out a laugh which wasn’t quite sane, the loud sound brash and cracked with emotion, he shook his head, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. For the most part, he had stopped carrying them on patrol, but kept one around, just in case a ‘one last smoke’ situation ever presented itself – and this qualified.

Striking an old match from his pocket against the wall, he lit the cigarette between his lips and inhaled, closing his eyes. He released his breath and opened them to see Robin watching him curiously, not sure what was going on.

Damian put on a front, like he always did. “Don’t you like, _speak_ Zombie?” 

“I wish,” Jason snorted back, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he did. If he were thinking straight, he probably would have stopped talking there, but since they were both about to die anyway he wasn’t exactly planning ahead. “I could just do without the flashbacks of crawling out of my own grave when I’m trying to focus on making headshots, that’s all.”

Damian stepped back from him. There was an odd look on his face – barely masked shock, mixed with something else. “You never-”

“I never what?”

“In all of your fights with father – you spoke about the Joker, never what happened afterwards. You never said you were actually buried, Todd.”

Shit, Jason had not meant to tell him that. What had happened was none of their damn business and he certainly didn’t need their pity. Trying to bluff it off, he took a long drag of his cigarette as it neared it’s end, savouring the taste. 

“He wouldn’t have listened, not that it matters now. We’re both going to get torn apart in a few minutes anyway.”

Damian said nothing, but his body language gave him away. He disagreed with the statement, turning his shoulder slightly to look at the door. “What’s it like?”

The question was asked not with fear, but without the usual arrogance and posturing as well. It was the closest Damian came to looking like a normal ten year old, and Jason noticed it, walking to stand beside him with a furrowed brow. 

“Dying? It’s not so bad.”

_At least if you’re not alone_ , a voice in his head added. Jason ignored it, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his boot. It crushed underfoot, scarring the concrete black. 

The door was almost caving in now – they didn’t have much time.

Damian said nothing in response, staring at the door silently. He never once let himself slip – there was no fear on his face exactly, but there was something akin to it in his eyes. After all, he was ten years old and this was like something out of a horror movie. Anyone else would be shitting their pants.

But not him, and not Damian. They had been trained better than that. 

At his sides, Jason felt his fists clench. This wasn’t fucking fair – he had fought too long to die again like this, and the kid – he was too young. Even he was older when he died for the first time. Too much life waited ahead of him – years of being Robin and growing; Damian was just a goddamned kid. He shouldn’t even be on the streets with Batman as far as Jason was concerned, Bruce had enough boy soldiers. He should be learning how to be a child away from Thalia and the League’s influence, not any of this. It would only end bloody.

But there was no way he was letting the kid die tonight.

No more dead Robins. No fucking way. 

“Kid,” Jason started, almost laughing again at the instantaneous scowl that appeared. “The way I see it, we don’t have a lot of options here. We either wait for them to bust in and well, eat us.” Jason winced at the wording, but was rewarded by a snicker from the boy beside him. “Or we go out fighting.”

Damian pulled a batarang out of nowhere and twirled it artfully, devious look in his eyes. “I must admit, Todd – it would be nice to cut loose for a change.”

“Atta boy!” Jason clapped him on the shoulder and moved to stand beside the bookcase, lifting it with one hand ready to shove it out of the way. The corridor outside would still be teeming with zombies, but if they could make a little room for themselves and not get bitten long enough to fight their way through it, their salvation lay in an emergency exit to the left. He turned, “Ready?”

Damian nodded stiffly back. He still wasn’t scared, but he wasn’t as unfocused as he usually was, his arrogance disappeared. Standing stock still and facing the door, he waited as Jason threw the bookcase out of the way and kicking the first zombie in line in the chest.  
It fell back and took some of the others with it, Red Hood drawing and shooting with both hands before it even hit the ground.

Making headshots without hesitation and sending a splattering of muddy blood across the walls and himself, Jason carved a path through the bodies – almost unable to navigate, but it was something. He cleared enough space to step into the corridor before Damian had to throw a single batarang, following him without question.

“Suck it, zombies!” Jason shouted above the din of groans and grunts, the zombies trying to come at them erratically and without thought. They grasped and shuffled, mouths agape and rotting. The smell alone could have killed them. He shot mercilessly, but only had so much ammo. “Come on, you dumb sacks. Meat head - eat lead!”

It made him feel better to hurl the vocal abuse at them too. If he had done this silently, if he didn’t at least try and find the humour in the situation, he would go crazy. It was insane. 

So the terrible trash talk continued as he slowly pushed his way through the hoards, keeping the kid in his line of vision at all times and spending so much time making sure nothing could touch Damian that he stopped watching his own back. It was interesting to watch.  
Without having to worry about breaking Batman’s big rule, the kid was lethal; he cut through the zombies without hesitation but with a grace no one else could have managed – slashing and ducking, he rolled with every movement effortlessly.

Jason knew he’d never been that good when he was that young. He was a scrapper at heart; a street brawler in his blood. If he was a blunt instrument, Damian was a scalpel, precise and deadly, cutting deep before you noticed its approach. 

Although they were considerably outnumbered, they forced their way through the gathering crowd of the undead, halfway to the door in minutes. That was when Jason ran out of bullets. Pulling out the knife he still carried, its wickedly curved blade familiar to Damian, who saw it and shuddered subtly, Jason started stabbing instead.

When he had first come back, he had killed a lot of people with that knife.

Noticing Damian’s reaction, Jason felt his stomach drop - he hated it, he did. That wasn’t him anymore. But it was a good knife, and it was a reminder of who he could never be again. So he tortured himself by carrying it around every day.

Stabbing it hard into the nearest zombies head, he grimaced at the squelch and way the skull carved it, trying not to think about it too much as he moved swiftly on. _They’re dead_ , he told himself. _They’re already dead_.

“Todd!”

A batarang flew past his head, embedding itself into the forehead of a zombie about to take a bite at his turned back. As Jason turned on his heel sloppily, slipping on the guts and blood underfoot as he struggled to maintain his balance in the fray, Damian leapt over the backs of the nearest undead and landed at his side, pushing him back up towards the door.

“Quickly! We’re outnumbered by too many,” Damian urged, hating to admit defeat no matter how true it was. They ran towards the lift, hearing the zombies follow them, not quite running but shuffling as quickly as their rotting limbs allowed, falling over one another in their desperation to get to the two fleeing boys.

“Shit,” Jason cursed when they got to the elevator and pushed the button – only for nothing to happen. The power must be out. “We’ll have to climb it. Help me get the door open.”

The older man braced himself in the door frame and put all of his remaining strength into pushing the metal doors open, slipping his fingers into the crack and straining to extend the gap. Once it was wide enough for the smaller boy to fit through, Jason used his leg to hold the heavy doors open, ushering the kid through the gap, stepping over Jason’s leg and into the elevator shaft.

On the other side, Damian turned and tried to hold the door open as Jason slipped through it, all too aware of the approaching danger. As Jason squeezed his chest through the gap, dozens of hands clawed at his armoured arm and tried to drag him back through, knocked back by well-placed batarangs by Damian – with that, Jason fell into the shaft beside him, cutting out all sight of the undead behind the doors.

He lay on the floor panting for a moment. Honestly, Jason hadn’t expected to get out of that one. There were just so many of them and they were hardly a team.

“Hey kid,” he breathed heavily, lifting his head to see Damian similarly leaning against the wall, looking tired and bent at the knees. “We did it. Who’d have fuckin’ thought it, huh?”

Damian was quiet for a moment, catching his breath. Once he had recovered, slightly sped up by the hammering against the doors now, he spoke quietly, “They looked so sad.”

“Huh?”

“Those – those things,” Damian shuddered, “they looked devastated. Desperate. They weren’t . . . evil, not really. They were just _sad_. Somebody did this to them.”

Jason sat up, touching a hand to his head. He nodded grimly, “Yeah, kid. I know. But they were dead already – there was nothing we could do for them.”

“We can catch whoever did this!”

“We will,” Jason nodded, standing. His bones ached, protesting to every movement as he stood in the middle of the square shaft, grateful they were on the ground floor and not balancing on some beam above their heads, and looked up, sizing it up. They weren’t out yet. “But right now we need to get moving, who knows how long that door will hold. Are you okay to climb?”

“Are you?” Damian responded in an instant, nose turning up. He jumped to grab the lowest bar in the matrix of mechanics and structures up the narrow shaft, pulling himself up easily and turning to wait at his new foothold. “Should you be climbing with blood loss?”

Jason shrugged, “Let’s find out.”

They started climbing; knowing the way out was many sub-basements above.

 

*

 

Once they stood in an empty corridor above, crawling out of the lift in an exhausted manner, Jason pulled a small device from one of his pockets and turned it round in his hands. He was leaning against the wall but Damian was hunched over with his back to him – perhaps he wouldn’t notice if Jason was quick.

He only made it one step towards the elevator before Damian spoke. “What’s that?” he asked, trying to get a better look.

The older man froze, hand halfway ready to drop the device down the shaft. He could lie or just act, just do it quickly – but he owed the kid more than that.

“C4,” Jason replied, turning to face the younger boy. Although something like guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach, he forced his voice to be neutral. “It’s a small charge, but enough to take out the sub-basements without causing the building to collapse.”

“We can’t just blow them up!” Damian shouted incredulously, taking a few steps towards the other man. His lip twisted up, turning hateful. “They’re people, Todd. I know _you’re_ used to slaughtering innocents – but I’m not.”

“They’re not people! They’re just walking bodies, Damian. And probably in pain – we’ll be putting them out of their misery.”

“We could save them. S.T.A.R Labs, the Justice League, _someone_ will know how to cure them!”

“They’re dead,” Jason snapped coldly. Groaning in frustration, he stepped towards Damian and put a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, giving him a small but rough shake. “They’re corpses, without thought or want – this isn’t killing! But if we do nothing: if we leave them and one of them escapes? They could infect the entire city. _Hundreds_ could die. _That’s_ murder.”

Damian shook his head, not wanting to believe it. They just needed help. They looked _so sad_.

“Listen – listen to me,” Jason commanded, the hand on Damian’s shoulders becoming gentle. “I’ve done my time as a zombie, and I can’t say I remember much. But that downstairs isn’t life. We have to make the hard choice, the one which will save more lives . . . that’s kinda what we do, kid. We bear it so they don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Damian nodded slowly. The edge of childishness remained in his voice, but he quickly cut his tone off to be harsh. “Let me do it, Hood.”

“Kid, I’m not sure-”

“Hoo- _Jason_ ,” he said again, this time meeting the older man’s eyes, even through the hood. “Give me the bomb. I’ll do it.”

Wordlessly, Jason handed the device over. He didn’t need to ask if the kid knew how to arm it before he dropped it down the elevator shaft – of course Damian knew. That was how they were raised: with a quick fuse and and quicker temper. Jason wanted to do something, but knew there was no point. Some things were always going to be hard.

Once Damian dropped the bomb, they took shelter either side of the elevator as it exploded, a pillar of flame passing them, so intensely hot they could feel it from even there. Jason flinched at the sensation momentarily before it passed as soon as it arrived; remembering another explosion, heat searing his skin, the ringing . . . 

Snapping himself out of it before he could get lost in the memory, the older man stood and approached the little Robin, who was standing silently. The boy wasn’t quite looking at him, a blank expression in his eyes. Jason recognised that look. Hell, he wore it most days.

“I don’t want to go home,” Damian said, voice devoid of emotion. “To the Manor, I mean. Father cannot see me like this, he can’t know-”

“Okay, kiddo,” Jason interrupted him before Damian could get worked up. Throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulders which was shrugged off in an instant, he headed for the exit, hearing smaller footsteps follow. True to his word, the building remained standing despite the blast. “You can crash at mine – on the couch. No one gets my bed. No one.”

*

 

Unsurprisingly, Damian got the bed that night.

Jason fell asleep only once he was sure the little ninja had, burying the weird sense of worry he felt for the child now. It wasn’t his damn son. It was another replacement. So why did Jason care so much that Damian looked haunted by that night?

His sleep was uneasy, and by the time Jason woke, any trace that he wasn’t alone the night before was gone, as well as the little bird.

 

*

_Wolves will keep you warm,  
_If you convince yourself you’re one . . ._ _

**Author's Note:**

> this song suits Jason and Dami down to the ground. I love it. Thanks to everyone who read/commented on Golden, I decided to go ahead with it! Do you want me to do the batgirls making amends with jay or just the batboys? Tim or Steph next? Let me know!


End file.
